Pilot Ridge Holiday Bash 2019

[Dr. Sean Neville]

((This event will be closed on January 31. The party itself takes place on December 21, 2019. There is no post order.))

It is a mystery, who exactly started the Pilot Ridge Holiday Party tradition. Their name has been lost to time, as at least three different people in town claim it was their idea. Yet, no matter who first put it into motion, the party is a tradition the whole town anticipates every year.

This year, it is being held at the Four Chimneys Inn, a popular hotel in town that often serves as a wedding venue. Admission is $25, half of which is donated to the charity-of-the-year. (This year's charity: Pathways Vermont.) There is a sliding scale for those who cannot pay, partially funded by those willing and able to pay more. If you do not want to pay, they are also taking toy donations for Toys for Tots in lieu of money. This year's theme is Winter Wonderland, with the snow theme taken seriously, transforming the hotel inside to match the snow on the ground outside. A snowflake disco ball hangs over the dance floor, and despite a commitment to more secular and less religious decor, a menorah stands prominently in the window. White is the primary color scheme, with a bit of blue, gold, red, and green found all about. There is a holiday photo booth with props and small costume pieces for anyone who wants to play, and, as an additional fundraiser, the mayor will appear in photos with you in exchange for a small ticket purchase. The food, a combination of a buffet and finger foods brought around, were catered by a small sampling of local restaurants rather than a single one. And of course, there is the bar.

The Bash is serious about carding and enforcement. No Hammel students or characters under 21 are allowed, not even ones who might work at the venue or in food service. All attempts at sneaking in through powers have been unsuccessful in the past and now nobody even tries, allowing the adults of Pilot Ridge to their child-free night of the year.

As the mayor and his spouse, Mayor Bernstein and Dr. Neville were among the first to arrive. Unlike in years past, after shedding their coats at the check, they began a round of meet and greet rather than making a beeline for the bar.

[Declan O'Cassidy]

A huge holiday party was not exactly top on Declan's to do list. If left to his own devices he would much rather be curled up at home, Ernest purring softling in his lap, while he lost himself in a good book. That's what winter days were for. Not getting all dressed up and tossing himself at the mercy of every drunken fool in Pilot Ridge.

But Ricky wouldn't stand for it and talked Declan into at least stopping by.

It helped of course that there would be booze. Also Declan had to admit, there wasn't much chance for him to be fancy when he was alone. 

So dressed in one of his light blue dress shirts with a blue vest (which he felt was a good fit for the wintery theme) he arrived at the hotel. He did make a beeline for the bar, both in hope of getting some liquid courage to deal with the evening and to avoid the crowd.

"Whisky on the rocks, please," he asked, after getting the server's attention. After a look around the room he added, "Make it a double." It was going to be a long night. But after a drink or two it should be fine, right? If not, Ricky was never going to hear the end of it.

[Dr. Jay Murdoch]

The bash was something he looked forward to every year. Not necessarily the whole socializing thing, but he enjoyed getting to dress up and hit the town for a winter-themed gathering. Christmas was tied with fall as his favorite time of the year, after all.

He dressed in theme-related colors that didn’t clash with his blaze of red hair (really, being ginger meant tailoring outfits so his hair didn’t make it fall apart) and paid a little extra on the entrance fee. Just like every year, he took a moment to admire the decorations hanging from the walls and notice everyone’s outfits; and, just as he did every year as well, Jay eyed the bar where a familiar short man was getting drinks.

No alcohol. You know what happens when you drink. Sherman’s voice echoed in the back of his head. That mule was certainly a voice of reason; no wonder animals were such good creatures. Heeding the mule’s echoing advice, Jay turned away from the bar and went right to the buffet. Food was always a great first option, and, if he did drink later, there’d be something in his stomach to soak it up.

”Oh hell yeah,” he muttered to himself, grabbing a plate. A sample of nearly everything was taken and a fourth of them were eaten before they were even placed on his plate. Humming with delight, he tried to be discreet about licking chocolate from his fingers in such a formal setting. ”Nobody saw that, right? Didn’t think so. Naw, I’m fine.”

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

Their discussion about the Holiday Bash had spilled across the walls of both of their bedrooms, finished off the last of the yellow Post-It notes, suddenly turning lime green when Simon tore open the new package, discounted three times until they cost pennies on the dollar (perhaps because the garish color was an eyesore), purchased during their last supply run along with anther pack of pens and refill rolls of Scotch tape. Given their personalities, a third party observer could be forgiven for misinterpreting the vehemence as out of place, assuming any insistence belonged to Cyrus, reversing their positions entirely, or wondering if the exclamation point accompanying the last “Absolutely not!” was in error.

Cyrus had tried his level best, willing - more than willing, happy to trade his Saturday night to his other half if only Simon would avail himself of the party invitation - to convince the other, “older” Ettinger to attend. We’ll buy you a new suit. We’ll find you a woman to ask out. Hankkuah starts the night after and maybe we could call up someone from the old neighborhood to stay for a few days and you can show them around…

Only to be met with flat refusal, his every suggestion shot down with impenetrable stubbornness that extended beyond his baseline ahedonia or the introversion that had blossomed into full-blown social avoidance.

Forget George R.R. Martin’s tedious warnings. Winter was here, and his other half’s moods darkened as rapidly as the afternoons without the daylight savings time, and his desire to leave the apartment dipped as low as the temperatures outside.

Cyrus was loathe to squander the opportunity to socialize, and after a last gasp at convincing his other half to take the Saturday night, had invited James out, hinting that this could be a date of sorts, and tempting him with the promise of holiday cheer. His friend was homesick and conflicted about this, and while the holiday Bash in a small liberal town in Vermont was hardly the same as whatever religious festivities a southern Georgian Baptist family celebrated, it was what the empath could offer. Between how James’s brown eyes melted at any small mention of Christmas, the carols that had crowded out the rest of his playlists when they went out, and the seemingly endless sweaters that appeared from the back of his closet, this was obviously his favorite holiday, and he should acknowledge it in some way.

Rather than go out and buy a brand new suit as he had promised Simon to entice, Cyrus instead selected one from his wardrobe that rarely saw the light of day, rarely had reason to move from its designated hanger where it kept his other formal wear company, beside a Halloween costume and an outfit worn during his LARP campaign. Despite not gracing his body for a year or two, when he checked himself in the mirror, the jacket clung to his form as though it had been tailored that morning; the red color fit the season and complemented the dark brown of his hair, while the tie complimented his bright blue eyes.

He and James had carpooled rather than meet together, while Sufjan Stevens belted out “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” and “Star of Wonder”, and they passed houses adorned with twinkling lights and red and white striped decorations. The parking lot was not yet full, as they were still among the early crowd, although surely the spaces would disappear as neighbors arrived to partake of the merriment.

Cyrus paid their cover charge at the door, one in cash and the other with a Lego Set purchased weeks ago during the Black Friday online frenzy. As soon as they were inside, they were met by the final chords of a Barenaked Ladies Hanukkah song. A smile lit up Cyrus’s lips as he recognized it, widening further as he spied the buffet table. “Are you hungry? Or should we mingle first?”

Not the bar to drink; he had noticed James's teetotaling, but several people were crowded around, drinks in hand or chatting up a storm.

[Cole Scott]

Cole never missed an occasion to party. Though the Holiday Bash was a bit tamer, at least during the first few hours, it was still the place to be. He had picked for tonight a slightly oversized white tuxedo suit, open to show the white mesh tank top he wore underneath. Just the right amount of fancy and fun. After all, his boss was going to be there. He supposed he had to wear at least some clothing.

Speaking of his boss, he saw Mr. Mayor as he walked in, but only gave a brief wave before heading straight for the bar. After catching the bartender's eye, he leaned closer and asked "Make me something special?" It was a trick he had learned early on. Most bartenders had a favorite concoction. And most of the time it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. And usually something that didn't really have a name. And, if the bartender was busy, it gave them the option of simply handing Cole something easy and Cole might be lucky and have them repay the small gesture of kindness later in the night. And if the person really went out of their way to make something really special, well, that was always a sign that the night would end well.

After securing his drink, Cole scanned the room and spotted his fellow bandmate standing near the buffet. It dawned on him that some people actually came to eat, not drink. What a funny thought. Still, he made his way over to the tables, grabbing a plate and tossing a few things onto it.

"I saw it. But then it's hard not to notice when a handsome man does something adorable," he said, giving Jay a smile. "I see you haven't had the chance to get a drink. Should I grab you something when I get a refil?" Because yes, his glass was already half-empty.

[Josh Bernstein]

His first Bash as the mayor had Josh more nervous than he cared to admit. He loved parties of all kinds, but having a direct hand in the most important party tradition of Pilot Ridge was nothing if not intimidating. He half wondered if his electability next term might be impacted by how well the townsfolk enjoyed themselves tonight.

Disappointingly it seemed that most of the activity was around the bar, and he couldn’t drink yet. Not so early in the night when he had responsibilities.

He returned his intern’s wave, but the younger man had already turned away from him.

Ah, well.

“Good showing tonight,” he commented to Sean. As if there ever wasn’t.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“It is,” Sean agreed, bumping his hip against Josh’s, half-encouragement and half an excuse for some manner of physical contact that would likely be in short supply tonight as they strove to embody the pinnacle of professional ethics befitting the office of Mayor during one of the most important events of the year.

“I can hear a few people; they like the decorations.” That was both a point of pride on his husband’s part as well as a bit of a gamble, he knew, deviating from secular Christmas domination in a holiday space, but it seemed a success so far. That this was Pilot Ridge and not Scottsboro, Alabama played a role in that acceptance - religiosity mattered less here, and even though most residents were like Sean himself, raised in Christian culture, they could set it aside for a winter-themed party.

Who needed Christmas trees when there were cocktails and finger foods?

“I’ll need to get you into the photo booth before the end of the night. Do you think I can pay the donation in kisses or do you need cash from me too?”

Sean fully intended to pry open his wallet either way; the money went to a good cause, one that he supported as strenuously as his husband did.

[Dr. Jay Murdoch]

He’d been caught quite literally licking chocolate off his fingers after eating another strawberry dipped in the sweet goodness. An expression akin to deer-in-headlights came to his face as he turned around at the familiar voice, finger not ripping from his mouth until he realized that there were people - important people - standing off behind Cole. A conscious effort was made to not wipe the finger on his suit and so he searched for a napkin to clean up with.

”Well thank you,” he replied, admittedly feeling his cheeks burn lightly at a compliment he didn’t get often, if at all. But he then picked at his food some more, comfortable with the company present and not needing to be professional in the name of Pilot Ridge Animal Hospital. Yet, at least.

Jay shook his head after swallowing a mouthful. ”Thanks, but alcohol ‘n’ I don’t mix well.” It was said with a lopsided grin. A knowing grin. ”I’m the wimpiest lightweight you ever did see. One shot, ‘m done. I can’t even get through one bottle, most’f the time.” He chuckled. ”Whatchya got, though?”

[James Fawcett]

James had been thrilled that Cyrus wanted his company to the Holiday Bash, which he gathered from talk with his coworkers and the choir members at church was rather a Big Deal. He wasn't sure he would have gone alone, but having a friend to cling to was a benefit for this type of occasion, allowing him to spread his wings a bit because there was a safe anchor should he find himself too overwhelmed.

He'd worn a shirt with ruffles at both the neck and the wrists, which meant there was no need for a tie, but his suit was a festive shade of green and he had on Christmas wreath socks - not that anyone was going to notice those. Over the suit he'd worn a heavy coat as well as thick gloves and a woolen hat. He was loath to shed these even once they were firmly within the warmth of the hotel.

He allowed his eyes to roam across the other party goers, landing on Cole and Jay. They should probably say hello to their fellow bandmates, shouldn't they? Even if he hadn't entirely become comfortable with them yet. Not that they weren't nice, but it sometimes took a bit before he truly warmed up to other people, even other people engaged in an activity he absolutely loved. It was one thing to talk within the context of the band, when their discussions were largely musical in nature. But he wasn't sure how to hold a conversation with them here.

"Ummm," He began as he finally tucked his gloves into his coat pocket, deciding that maybe he didn't want to be the weirdo who wore his coat in the party (even if Vermont was frigid). "I guess...food? Then we can say hi to Jay and Cole, if they're not too busy."

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

Cyrus found these glimpses into his friend’s deeper personality as fascinating as they were infectious. James had lit up like the Christmas tree he had decorated as soon as they’d finished their Thanksgiving meal when the empath had invited him out to this party.

He differed from Simon there; his other half’s stubborn refusal even to consider attending in his stead still stung a bit, concern blossoming in the back of Cyrus’s mind on his behalf. They would address it later - possibly using up all of the green Post-It notes in their supply closet and moving on to the next color.

Tonight, however, Cyrus had James for company, and while he never forgot about his other half, he allowed himself to focus primarily on his friend for these next few hours. His eyes never dimmed even for an instant, providing no insight into the thoughts that had passed through his mind or the emotions that he smoothed over; his shields strong enough that only a particularly skilled telepath or empath might gain insight, and he trusted them not to deliberately pry.

As though he had learned manners and socializing from watching Cary Grant films, he shucked his coat with a bit of flair and then extended one arm, crooked at the elbow to create a makeshift hanger, towards James, implicitly offering to take his as well. As soon as he had, Cyrus made short work of checking them at the door, before memorizing their numbers and depositing them safely in his wallet where they wouldn’t be lost after hours of dancing and mingling.

“Food first.” No argument there. Even when Cyrus wasn’t particularly peckish, he still fell into the patterns of his adolescence, modeled by Ettingers and their cultural brethren across the country. The assurance: “I could eat” when met with the prospect of food in any setting.

A buffet greeted them in the dining room, hot plates kept the dishes appropriately warm when the cool hair from outside might cause them to lose some heat. Yet, before he could decide whether to start with what looked like soup shooters or if he wanted something heartier, the most marvelous…decor caught his attention.

Immediately, he shared it with James. “Would you look at that.”

Along the wall was a large wooden pegboard, the exterior cut to resemble a snowman and painted white to aid the illusion. Hanging from each peg were doughnuts, two or three deep, to fill in the body of the creature. A vast assortment - some seasonal with white frosting and white and blue or red and green sprinkles, others the standard flavors of glazed and chocolate or the more unique varieties of blueberry and maple.

”The mayor's outdone himself."

[Marnie Sullivan]

Marnie's first recollection of the annual holiday bash was at age fifteen, the day classes reconvened after winter break, when one of her more boastful classmates tried to convince anyone who would listen that he'd managed to sneak into it. While they'd waited for homeroom to start it made for a spirited debate whether such a thing was possible. Her parents attended the years that they lived in town; when she asked about it that year, what they had to say didn't jive with the image she'd built up of the kind of party worth sneaking into. 

Back then, the annual boys-versus-girls snowball fight was more interesting anyway.

Now, though, it was Marnie's first winter back in Pilot Ridge since turning twenty-one. As the weather got colder, a few of her coworkers at the cafe swapped stories - much more believable stories - about bash antics of years past. It still didn't sound worth the risk of breaking in, but now she didn't need to. Pilot Ridge was her home - at least for now - and this fixture of town life was open to her. It was enough to pique her interest and keep it as the late December weekend approached. 

The "winter wonderland" theme was fun to play with, Marnie felt, when she planned her outfit. The first and obvious choice was her thick, white cabled sweater, as cozy as it was soft. The weekend before the bash she was able to find a skirt to match it with - knee-length and pale blue, with a layer of floaty sequined tulle to hide the shine of the cheap satin underneath. Adding white leggings and matching blue ballet flats, she thought, gave the impression of a snow fairy or wintry ballerina. And it was a deal, too; the skirt was the only special expense. Her hair, done up in an elaborate braid that glittered when she moved, was actually bristling with bobby pins painted with nail polish that sparkled an icy blue.

Arriving at the Four Chimneys Inn, bearing a large stuffed teddy bear ($20 could get still get you a lot of stuffed animal in this economy), however, Marnie had half a mind to leave the bear and go right home. The more gowns and tuxedos she spied, the more her outfit felt like a bargain bin Elsa costume.

What a way to kick off her first bash - leaving immediately. If her coworkers asked, technically she could say she'd been there, but... Waiting in line while she argued with herself, Marnie caught a glimpse of a stranger leaving the lobby restroom in an enormously tacky sweater covered in functioning strings of lights. She breathed a sigh a relief and handed over the bear as her entry fee. Salvation in ugly sweaters; she wouldn't be alone, or even the most obvious outlier.

Marnie checked her heavy black coat, stepped into the ballroom, and immediately felt better about her decision. The snowdrifts in the corners and icicles hanging from the wall fixtures clearly had to be fake, but the way they caught the light as the disco ball spun made it hard not to smile. She could at least stay long enough to enjoy this.

But first things first. She didn't want to be empty-handed at a party, so Marnie made a quick glance around at her options - buffet, bar, snoughnutman - put on a game smile, and headed straight for the doughnuts.

[Josh Bernstein]

"I'll take any payment you're willing to give me," Josh responded to the flirtation with a crooked grin, one hand reaching out to adjust Sean's bow tie. "Even if it's a payment that needs to be deferred for when we're alone."

That last was spoken in a low voice, intended only to be heard by his husband. He certainly didn't want his intern to hear that, even knowing the younger man would hardly be scandalized by innuendo. Or maybe he would be simply because of the perception of senior citizens as lacking in anything resembling a libido, as if they'd never been frisky in their youth and were only sex negative prudes who wanted to squash youthful fun with the specter of respectability.

Across the room he could see a couple of Sean's coworkers and a young woman he thought looked familiar heading for the doughnut wall.

"So glad to be hip with the youths," He commented, grateful to the young people who had first informed him that doughnut walls were a current trend in parties. He never would have come up with the idea on his own, but he rather liked it and was gratified that the results seemed to please the local populace.

[James Fawcett]

James followed Cyrus's gaze towards the donuts, brown eyes going wide at the sight. He didn't have much of a sweet tooth, but even he couldn't deny the appeal of a doughnut. Perhaps a simple glazed one to go with whatever was available at the buffet. He was fairly certain he'd seen someone walk past with a plate of mashed potatoes and asparagus, neither of which he was prepared to turn down. He hadn't seen what meat was on offer, but he wasn't particularly picky there. Surely whatever the caterers had provided would be acceptable.

"Yeah, let's try that," He agreed, long stride taking him towards the doughnuts and nearly into the side of a young woman who looked nearly young enough to be one of his students. She must have been older than she looked, though, or she wouldn't have been allowed entrance.

"Oh, sorry," He mumbled, gesturing for her to approach the doughnuts first. "They look real tasty, don't they?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

One of the great ironies of Sean’s position at Hammel was the widespread perception among students that he, as an adult past the family-planning stage and with no children to his name, was consigned to celibacy (if they were aware of his marriage and this occurred sooner or later given Josh’s frequent presence at Hammel events) or asexuality among the newer and younger students. The ones who couldn’t bear the thought of anyone over twenty-five as a sexual being with a body as alive as a college student given the right stimuli.

Not that he did anything directly to disabuse them of this notion, maintaining proper boundaries entailed never discussing the details of his sex life. He kept his Safe Zone and Bisexual Pride stickers on his door, continued to refill the basket of prophylactics outside of his office for the students to raid under illusion of anonymity, and made no effort to hide his marriage. Even if considered celibate, he wasn’t a prude to them, not with his annual Talk.

But their faces might freeze in a permanent cringe if they knew how active he and Josh were, if they knew that their psychiatrist, now Head Master, required so little to be swept away by the man in front of him.

As Josh fiddled with his bowtie, Sean stood straight, acquiescing to the touch, blue eyes gazing down into his husband’s well-loved face. “I’ll be sure to pay in full as soon as we get home.”

For them, this meant the instant one foot had crossed the threshold rather than waiting to shut the door or finding the self-control to climb the stairs and fall into bed first.

Josh’s remark drew his gaze towards the dining room, smiling less at one of the Ettinger brothers and James Fawcett (although it was encouraging to see the young Southern man out and about rather than hiding in a corner, ruing the mere notion of a party) than at the familiar face of one of his favorite former students. He lifted one hand, waving towards Marnie to catch her attention.

“You know I’m building one for our kitchen, don’t you?” A joke…perhaps. He could do with a project for the winter, and this was hardly as complicated as some of the other recommendations in his woodworking books.

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

An area where James differed from both of the Ettinger brothers, who shared this commonality while diverging in so many other ways from favorite color to hobbies to musical taste to orientation. Simon had mused once, during a moment of clarity, that it was an evolutionary adaptation to ensure that they ingested enough calories and glucose to satisfy their side effects; after all, they were hardly the only psychics with a weakness for sugary snacks or baked goods. Cyrus attributed this instead to their symbiotic relationship; Simon liked sweets and so Cyrus went the step further, enjoying not merely the finished products but the creation process to ensure a steady supply for the both of them.

Whatever the cause, in this moment, his gaze remained on the wall and he drew nearer, a moth to a torch in the summer. Yet, ever more mindful of his surroundings, he managed not to bump into the young woman or to step on the back of his friend’s shoes while forming a vague line behind him, ready to patiently wait his turn.

She wasn’t familiar to him, too young to have attended Hammel at the same time (and he wouldn’t have forgotten a face) but too old to have been one of Simon’s students during the short time of his employment. Instead, what he matched to her was the spike in anxiety from when she entered the building, managing briefly to eclipse James’s in his notice.

Quite the feat.

"Is this your first Bash?" He didn't probe for her age, relying on cruder methodology of observation and assumption, but it seemed a fair bet that she was recently out of college if not a senior so eager to flash her new ID and partake of the open bar.

Except she was here, with them, at the buffet instead of mingling and knocking back shots.